Rohingya refugees face fierce new wave of hostility in Malaysia

Not long ago, Malaysia's then-prime minister urged his country to protect Rohingya Muslims - a stateless minority that has fled violence and discrimination in Myanmar for decades.

"We must defend them, not just because they are of the same faith, but [because] they are humans, their lives have value," Najib Razak said in 2017.

Nine years on, a fierce new wave of hostility against the Rohingya is sweeping the nation.

So much so that "going to school has become a dangerous thing," says Irhan, a Rohingya refugee, who founded a school in northern Malaysia for children from his community aged six to 15. We have changed his name to protect his identity.

Because Rohingya children are barred from Malaysian public schools, they often attend unlicensed, community-run "learning centres", which are now especially vulnerable.

Irhan's school was raided last month, when eight uniformed police officers stormed inside, took photographs of the students and ordered some of them to go home.

"The students are just here to learn. Now their families are afraid," he says.

A school in Selangor in the west suspended classes for a month and reopened at the end of July with new instructions: students must not wear their uniforms to school and must go straight home after class, without lingering or hanging out in groups.

"We're keeping a low profile to protect our students from getting attacked," says Farooq, a Rohingya teacher.

Crackdowns are haphazard and often spurred by public sentiment. The uncertainty and fear have forced some schools to close in recent months. In some parts of the country, Rohingya have also been evicted from villages they'd been living in for years. Some local residents told Malaysian media that allowing them to remain could lead to "social problems".

After they were evicted from a fishing village near Penang, some120 refugees sought shelter outside the UN's refugee agency in the capital Kuala Lumpur - and were temporarily detained. More than half of them were children.

All of this has left a community that has long felt beleagured looking over its shoulder again.

"In the early years, the Malaysians were our friends. They cared for our children. But it's changed," Irhan says.

"I would leave if I could, but where else can I go? We are not wanted anywhere."

The UN refugee agency estimates that more than 126,000 Rohingya have resettled in Malaysia, making it the second-largest host country, after Bangladesh, for Rohingya refugees. But some rights groups believe the actual number is far higher.

Rohingya Muslims are denied citizenship in their home country of Myanmar, a predominantly Buddhist state. Although Rohingya trace their roots going back centuries in what is now Rakhine state, successive Myanmar governments have claimed that they are illegal migrants.

Ethnic tensions with the local Buddhist population have flared repeatedly, displacing tens of thousands of Rohingya. They ended up in camps within Myanmar, or fled across the border.

But the biggest exodus began in August 2017, after a brutal military crackdown. The Myanmar army massacred thousands of them, raped Rohingya women and burned their villages.

It was what the UN called "textbook ethnic cleansing" and former US president Joe Biden's administration determined as a genocide. Myanmar is now facing a landmark genocide case at the International Court of Justice, which saw deposed leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi testify.

As Myanmar's leader at the time, she was sharply criticised for how her government responded to the killings, including by playing down what was happening or suggesting that the severity of the violence was exaggerated.

In 2017, more than a million Rohingya fled to Bangladesh. But overcrowded camps, violence and shrinking aid have prompted many to attempt perilous voyages across the Andaman Sea towards Malaysia. These journeys are on cramped, fragile fishing vessels, and thousands die en route.

As more and more Rohingya arrived on its shores, Malaysia's welcome has worn thin.

Although it has never formally recognised asylum seekers – which means refugees have no right to housing, employment, and education – many Rohingya still see Muslim-majority Malaysia as a place of safety and economic opportunity.

Or at least that has been the case for a long time, when Malaysian leaders urged their people and Muslim nations to protect the community.

During the pandemic, the Rohingya were accused of spreading the virus and competing with locals for jobs. Petitions calling for their deportations flooded social media, and authorities turned away hundreds of Rohingya asylum seekers who had been drifting at sea for weeks.

The vitriol has returned with greater intensity this year, inflamed again by social media.

In May, posts emerged online accusing refugees of not properly disposing of animals sacrificed during the Muslim festival of Eid al-Adha and quickly went viral.

These snowballed into unfounded and hyperbolic claims that the community is demanding automatic citizenship, seeking political power, and trying to "take over" Malaysia.

An online petition urging authorities to "Remove Rohingya from Malaysia" garnered more than 420,000 signatures before it was taken down following criticism from rights groups.

Karim, a Rohingya activist, says locals' hospitality had "made [him] feel safe" when he first arrived in 2003.

"Life as a refugee is tough. It's disappointing to be stuck working in construction all these years. However, I found Malaysians to be very friendly and kind, which made me feel safe," says the 45-year-old, who now lives in Penang.

"Now, however, life has become increasingly difficult. I am often afraid to go outside. I've been asked several times while on my commute, 'Why are you making a mess of our city? Why don't you go back?'"

Irhan, who came to Malaysia in 2001 as a teenager among an earlier wave of asylum seekers, feels the same.

Both say most Rohingya want to go back to Myanmar eventually, but at this point they would be returning to a country locked in a bloody civil war.

Their home state of Rakhine has suffered catastrophic destruction amid intense fighting between the military regime and the Arakan Army. For the displaced Rohingya, going home could also mean being forcibly conscripted to fight for the embattled junta, or becoming targets of the Arakan Army.

The UN released a report by an independent fact-finding mission this week detailing how the the plight of minories has "plummeted to a new low" in Myanmar.

The Rohingya are "suffering misery and cruelty on multiple levels and across the country that is heartbreaking", the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk said on Tuesday.

And Malaysia too has become less of a haven than they had hoped.

Some say they are being used as easy scapegoats for the rising cost of living, with the hostility concentrated on them because they form the largest group of asylum seekers.

"I'm not saying that all Rohingya are good. There are good and bad people in every community. So why should a few individuals' actions be used to typecast a whole community?" Farooq says.

"I escaped the genocide in Myanmar hoping to find safety. Instead, many Rohingya today continue to live with fear of simply being who we are," he adds.

During a campaign speech in July, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim said Myanmar had agreed to take back 5,000 Rohingya refugees from Malaysia, owing to "good relations" between the two countries.

Anwar added that he had warned the Rohingya not to disrupt the lives of Malaysians. "This is our country. Malaysia is our country. Let no one else interfere," he said.

It is perhaps a sign of how mainstream anti-Rohingya rhetoric has become.

Nurulhidayah Zahid, daughter of Deputy Prime Minister Ahmad Zahid Hamidi, for example, compared the community to "monkeys in the forest".

"Enough of using religious and humanitarian sentiments. Do good in moderation. Don't let the monkeys in the forest be fed, [while] the children at home die of hunger," she wrote in a post on Threads that includes a picture of Rohingya.

A former deputy police chief, Ayob Khan Mydin Pitchay, likened the influx of Rohingya as a "cancer" requiring urgent action.

The BBC has reached out to the Malaysian prime minister's office and foreign ministry for comment.

Some believe the hostility against the Rohingya will only intensify as Malaysia heads towards the general election, which must be held before February 2028.

"[Refugees and migrants] are once again being turned into convenient political scapegoats to divert attention from deeper domestic challenges," says Yap Lay Sheng, a researcher from the human rights group Fortify Rights.

"For years, the Malaysian government has sought to present the country internationally as a humane and compassionate Muslim nation. Its treatment of the Rohingya exposes the hollowness of that claim," says Yap, who is based in Malaysia.

Back in the industrial building that for several months served as his classroom, Irhan is concerned less about the shifting politics than about what comes next for his students.

"I don't know where to get help, or who can get us registered as a school," he says. "I hope the Malaysians can understand that the children just want an opportunity to learn."